


Through The Eyes Of Another

by Nopholom



Series: Fox Blood (Kumiho and Vampire) [3]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monsters, Angst, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Gen, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Resurrection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopholom/pseuds/Nopholom
Summary: Moments before the Gatling gun fell, Sam had heard a sound he never wanted to hear again; it had been harrowing, an inhuman scream tore through the town like a hurricane, chilling him to the bone, and then grief struck him like a bullet as a mournful wail rang out from the bell tower, Goodnight Robicheaux was dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Fox Blood Billy and Goody Through The Eyes Of Another
> 
> Another view of Blame Me.

Moments before the Gatling gun fell, Sam had heard a sound he never wanted to hear again; it had been harrowing, an inhuman scream tore through the town like a hurricane, chilling him to the bone, and then grief struck him like a bullet as a mournful wail rang out from the bell tower, Goodnight Robicheaux was _dead_.

He didn’t have time to think, the townsfolk were safe for now and the dust was about to settle, Bogue would be here soon; he cast a gaze to the smouldering husk beside the church, yanked a blanket off the saddle of a fallen horse and covered his old friend, closing his eyes as another sorrowful, high pitched cry echoed above him, quieter this time, _weaker_.

He had a job to do, a man to kill, as much as he wanted to mourn his friend, to offer comfort to the man’s other half, he didn’t have time, so he turned away and left him there, hoping to somehow avenge him like he wanted to avenge his family.

Goodnight never left his mind, it made him squeeze Bogue’s throat harder as he found out the monster who had slain his family and ruined the lives of so many was undeniably and irrevocably _human_. His shock and his desire to see the life fade from Bogue’s eyes led to Emma Cullen saving his life, shooting the bastard before he could shoot _Sam_ ; he looked at her, saw the steely determination, shaken from the whole thing but ultimately stronger for it, stronger than he had been, so caught up in his own revenge that it had almost killed him. He donned his hat, finished his prayer and left Bogue’s body where he lay, Emma sniffled on his approach but her tears weren’t a weakness or fear, more of a relief. He didn’t know what to say, so he eased the rifle from her hands, she seemed to understand as he left her to let their success, as pricy as it had been, wash over her.

As he stepped outside into the oddly calm town, people began to come out of the woodwork, exhausted and wary of those around them, watching as a limping Teddy Q and a sullen Red Harvest supported Jack Horne, as Vasquez rode in with a bloody, barely conscious Faraday sat before him on the saddle. He was amazed to see them alive, wishing it could have been _everyone_ , but knowing that wasn’t the case; Emma bustled past him, spurred into action to fight a new fight, the fight of _recovery_. She and some others ushered Horne and the boys inside, men helped Vasquez carry Faraday after them, other injured townsfolk limping to be treated, though some remained outside, staring past Sam in _shock_.

 

Sam followed their gaze, turning to look at the covered body, at the tiny trembling beast that stood on top of the corpse, teeth bared and eyes flaring yellow.

_“What is that?”_ a man asked softly as Sam passed him, but he ignored him and locked eyes with the fox,

“Billy,” he said, the animal chittered angrily at him,

“ _Billy? As in the Assassin?_ ” the whispers rippled around him like a disturbance in water.

“Billy you need to come away son, we need to bury him,” he kept his voice soft as he stepped closer, Billy let out a shrill cry and snapped at the air, eyes seeming to glow as the fur on his back stood on end and his tail tore into eight smoky limbs. That hit Sam hard, he knew what it meant, that Billy had _died_ out here too, and though he was alive now, hissing and snarling with feral intent, he was raw and hurt, he had _died first_ and yet he still outlived his lover. “God…” he gasped, the townsfolk around him were terrified, he could hear it, saw some through the corner of his eye as they stepped further away from the small beast. “God, Billy I’m _so sorry_ ,” he whispered, approaching quicker now in spite of Billy’s warning, kneeling beside Goody’s body and hanging his head in _shame_ , “I’m so sorry…” he closed his eyes, let the tears fall. The vulpine growling stopped and he felt hot fur against his skin, felt paws on his thighs as Billy butted at his face gently and wiped away his tears; he knew it was risky, but he reached to touch Billy’s fur, to trail his fingers through the fiery strands. Billy let him, chittered and whimpered, climbed into his lap and pushed hard against the underside of his chin, desperate for contact.

He embraced Billy, apologising into his fur, begging his forgiveness, completely oblivious to the world around them until someone sat cross-legged beside them,

“Is there nothing you can do?” the voice startled him and he looked to see Red Harvest sat there, sullen and pensive as he looked at the covered body.

“The magic I know is limited…” he admitted, he knew Red would have some understanding of occult and magic, if only from his own culture, “I can’t overcome death,” he said, Billy shifted to curl up in his lap, letting out a small yet world-weary sigh, he rested his hand on the back of Billy’s neck, cautious and nervous, digging his fingers in gently when Billy made no move against him.

“No…” Red agreed, “But _he_ can,” he gestured to the fox in Sam’s lap, Sam followed the gesture and looked at the base of the coiled tails, his spine still seemed to split into nine, however one was cut short, bone jutting from the flesh, worn and broken and still damp with blood. He touched the broken tail and Billy’s teeth and tongue were suddenly all he could see, the jagged maw opened inhumanly wide, longer canines gently pressing to Sam’s temples as hot, scalding breath puffed against his face.

“ _Billy_ ,” he said softly and the press of teeth eased away from him and the mouth closed, yellow eyes peering at him with a warning, he was giving Sam a chance to explain himself before he cast his judgement. “I might know something… but it’s…” he trailed off and Billy stepped back, ears flat to his scalp as his form seemed to explode into smoke and Billy was crouched before him, blood stains scattered across his clothes,

“Tell me,” he growled, he was terrifying like this, his features were so oddly vulpine that it was hard for Sam to believe he’d mistaken Billy for an actual _human_ when they’d first met. It hadn’t been until Goody had taken him aside and explained that he'd noticed the unnatural sharpness of his features,  the odd shimmer in his eyes when light caught them a certain way, and that in itself was unsettling. “ _Tell me Sam_ ,” he rumbled, reaching a hand to curl into the front of Sam’s vest, a threat that Sam knew was made through desperation, that he was sure Billy wouldn’t follow through with,

“You’ll have to _die_ again…”

 

Over a month had passed since Billy had carried Goody’s burnt corpse into the saloon and laid him down in their shared room with unbridled care, refusing to let others near him or even leave his side for so much as a minute. According to Emma, he had waited patiently for Sam and Red Harvest to return with Sam’s old books, had protected his lover by curling up on his chest in fox form and snarling at any who entered save for her, as she’d started visiting with a pail of animal offal when Billy started to grow thin. She had told Sam that despite the waiting, Goodnight had remained unchanged somehow, not decaying, but not healing either, truly dead but stuck in some kind of preserved limbo, Sam had suspected that if he was left too long, he would simply crumble to ash, so he was glad to hear that it hadn’t happened yet.

He headed up to that shared room with a book tucked under his arm, knocking briefly before letting himself in,

“Billy?” Yellow eyes stared at Sam and he struggled not to falter in the doorway, he closed the door behind him and opened the book, flipping through the pages to the ones he’d slipped a string between. Billy hopped off of Goody’s chest and in one fluid motion a human stood where the fox had landed, somehow dwarfed by clothes that had fit snugly when Sam had seen him last; Sam turned the book to face Billy as he stepped closer. Billy’s eyes scanned the sketched symbols and his taciturn expression shifted to one of recognition, it seemed that Billy only needed to glimpse old Fox Blood Magic to understand what needed to be done.

“Leave,” he ordered, voice rough from clear disuse, and then he began shoving Sam out of the door, “Do not return, no matter what you hear,” and like that the door slammed closed and Sam was stood hugging the book to his chest, confused and deeply concerned.

He didn’t wait around, heading downstairs to where the others waited, anxious to find out what was going on,

“Do you think it’ll work?” Faraday asked as Sam sat beside him at the only occupied table in the establishment, the only ones with stomach enough to be around for what Billy had to do were the five interlopers, Emma, and Teddy Q.

“I don’t know,” Sam admitted, looking at the now heavy set man who had nearly died tossing dynamite at a Gatling gun, “Someone’s kept you well fed,” he jabbed, hoping to lighten the mood some; Faraday snorted,

“Well it’s not _me_ , I only have my drinkin’ hand left,” he emphasised this by picking up his bottle of whiskey and taking a swig. He almost dropped the bottle when an animalistic scream pierced the quiet, the glassware around the bar rattled uneasily and everyone held onto their seats in a panic, Teddy looked physically ill,

“What in the hell is _that_?” Horne cringed, covering his ears, like most of them were, though oddly _Vasquez_ wasn’t, he was just staring up the stairs, expression sombre.

“It’s beginning,” he said simply, sighing and picking up his own trembling bottle, drinking and ignoring the anguished wails and eerie silences that broke them up.

“What’s he even _doing?”_ Teddy asked, he looked physically sickened, tears prickling at his eyes as he covered his ears,

“He’s cutting his tail off…” Red said during a moment of silence, “He’s killing himself,”

“Shouldn’t we _stop_ him?” Faraday asked, he looked mortified, moving to stand but Vasquez stopped him with a hand,

“He has to Josué,” he said, expression serious, coaxing Faraday back into his seat by gently pulling his elbow.

“Why? I thought this was _saving Goody_ , what’s the point if _Billy_ is gonna be dead too?” he asked, “Why am I the only one who doesn’t under _stand_ this?” he asked, the silence stretched longer this time and Faraday looked up the stairs, “Is it over?” his voice was quiet, trembling,

“No…” Vasquez said, “There’s more,” he added and Sam wondered idly how Vasquez could possibly know this.

“He’s performing Blood Magic,” Sam explained, opening the book to show Faraday the images, “He’s sacrificing one of his lives for Goody,”

“Lives…” Faraday breathed, pulling the book closer and looking at the pages in awe,

“He’s something called a Kumiho, or Gumiho, a type of fox spirit from the East, a normal fox survives a thousand years, the deities gift it with humanity, and conditional immortality,” he began, Faraday was a smart kid despite how he acted sometimes, he followed along and nodded, “the conditions are tails, he had one as a fox, then nine as a Gumiho, he died during the battle,”

“So now he has eight,” Faraday mumbled,

“Seven now,” Vasquez corrected, Faraday shuddered at that, the haunting noise had stopped but it was still fresh in everyone’s minds.

“I couldn’t see me cuttin’ off a part of me for someone else,” he grumbled, rubbing the bandaged stump of his forearm, “Not after I’d already done it once…”

“He’s in love,” Emma sighed, not a dreamy sigh, a weary yet understanding one, “if there was a way I could bring Matthew back and still be with him, without anyone else having to die?” she gave a shrug.

“I mean sure… but do Goomee… Foxes not believe in the afterlife?” he asked, “Wouldn’t their souls meet again some time?”

“It took Billy well over a thousand years to die _once_ , how long do you think it’ll take him to lose another eight lives?” Sam asked,

“Oh…” Josh let out, “Jesus… Poor guy…” he whispered, “Love sounds like crap,” he grumbled, taking a swig of his drink,

“Love’s a beautiful thing, son, it hurts, but it’s worth the pain, at least for folk like _us_ ,” Horne said softly, “I cannot imagine the sheer loneliness he must’ve escaped in finding Goodnight, immortality must be a cruel gift when you’re the only one with it.”

 

A silence settled over them as they mulled that statement over; Teddy still looked ill, teary eyed and holding his head as he leant his elbows on the table, Vasquez was smoking, staring at the book as Faraday flipped idly through it, Horne seemed to be praying, Red seemed asleep where he sat, and Emma kept glancing at the stairs. Sam half wanted to tell them they could go, that they didn’t need to wait here for it to be done, he would be handling any clean-up himself as he suspected Billy wouldn’t be fit for it, he turned out to be right.

They heard the sluggish dragging of feet and Vasquez stood quickly and rushed for the stairs, Sam watched after him, standing too and seeing Billy stagger into view at the top of the stairs, drenched in blood and trembling like a leaf as Vasquez reached him.

“C’mon _zorro_ ,” Vasquez urged as he eased an arm around Billy to support him, glancing down at Sam and jerking his head back to the room Billy had emerged from; Sam nodded and stood, and so did _Emma_.

“Ms Cullen, the job I need to do is not a pleasant one…” he warned but she steeled herself and followed him upstairs and towards the room that Goodnight’s body was in; he was terrified of what he might see in there, studying pictures within an old book was nothing compared to seeing the aftermath of an _actual_ blood sacrifice. The door was open and he _smelled_ the blood before he saw it, which was a feat in itself because it was _everywhere_ , symbols were traced on the floor, Billy’s native tongue along with darker sigils and markings, all thick and congealed blood, the room was _sweltering_ when he stepped in.

“We need to clean this?” Emma asked, Sam nodded, “It’s done then?”

“Yeah, it’s done…” he sighed as he saw the last curls of smoke rising up from milky white bones as they lay amongst scattered hairs the centre of the symbols, along with the knife Billy had used to sever them from him,

“I’ll get a bucket…” she said, gagging a little as Sam stepped further into the room and tacky blood _strung_ from his heel to the ground. She left then and Sam didn’t blame her, crossing to collect those small, crumbling vertebrae from the ground, pulling a small leather pouch from his pocket and depositing them within it; he glanced over at Goody, he didn’t know what to expect, had hardly looked at his old friend since he’d cast the blanket over a deformed husk of a man.

Goody no longer seemed set in rigor, his head was turned and there seemed to be a freshness to the sores on his face as they wept and the pillow stained with blood; he was still stood staring when Emma returned with scrubbing brushes and hot _soapy_ water,

“Mr Chisholm?”

“If anything you’ve earned the right to call me Sam at this point,” he said softly,

“Then I insist you call me Emma,” her voice was stern as she handed him a brush, “I think we ought to get to work,” she said and he nodded his agreement.

When they finally emerged from Goody’s darkened room, light had begun to pool in through the windows of the saloon, their clothes were filthy, and Sam had a pristine knife hanging from his hip, not quite ready to disturb Billy after such a taxing ritual. Faraday was snoring where they’d left him sat, head back and hand on his bottle of whiskey still, Red Harvest was still there too,

“Did Vasquez come back down?” Sam asked, Red shook his head,

“Horne left, so did Teddy,” he said after a beat, Sam was frowning though, he wasn’t sure he liked the fact that Vasquez was still up there with Billy after what had happened. It wasn’t that he didn’t _trust_ Vasquez, but the man didn’t seem to have shared everything with them, and while a man was allowed his secrets, the ones Vasquez was keeping had Sam on edge for some reason. He had reached the landing when Vasquez emerged from the room at the far end of the hall with a wash basin held carefully in his hands, walking slowly towards him.

“Vasquez?”

“He said you’d need this…” Vasquez grimaced as he handed the basin over, it was almost hot to the touch and filled with a deep crimson liquid, Billy’s _blood_ , not congealed and burnt out like it had been on Goody’s floor, but fresh and steaming gently, “to help Goody recover,” Vasquez added, looking uncomfortable for possibly the first time since Sam had met him,

“Thank you…” Sam said uncertainly, “Is he…”

“He’s a fox, he let the blood into the basin then… changed… curled up on the bed and stayed there the whole time,” Vasquez uttered, “I didn’t want to leave him until I knew he was…” he trailed off, clearly not wanting to say ‘okay’, because how could Billy be okay after what he’d gone through?

“Thank you,” Sam said again, offering Vasquez a sincere look, a hint of apology in his eyes as they parted ways and he took the basin to the room beside Goody’s, figuring it would be easier kept there.

 

Sam and Emma had carefully fed Goodnight that startlingly warm blood every hour for over a week before either of them had seen him wake, he had been preparing a cup from Billy’s latest letting when Vasquez walked in,

“El Fuego is awake,” he commented before leaving once more, it took Sam a moment to realise that he meant _Goody_ , and he carried the cup into Goody’s room, heard his soft moan of dismay and saw the state he was in.

“ _Bill_ …” Goody rasped, his voice raw and painful sounding,

“He’s resting,” he assured, approaching quickly,

“Hurt… he’s…” he broke into a moan of pain and Sam knelt down and offered him the metal cup, pressing it to his lips and sighing in relief when Goody actually drank it, though it sounded painful and he stopped short of finishing, looking at him, searching him for answers.

“You should get some sleep,” Sam insisted, wishing he could give Goody _more_ , but he didn’t feel it was his place to do so, and he was honestly just relieved that Goody was _alive_ again, soon sleeping softly.

As the weeks went by, Goody grew more human and his bouts of consciousness grew more frequent, though not always for long, he awoke for feedings sometimes, and had awoken long enough to grill Sam for answers about Billy’s whereabouts. Goody hadn’t liked the answers Sam had given him, that much was clear, and giving him the news of his death hadn’t gone well, Goody had experienced some kind of panic induced fit, screaming and thrashing as if he were on fire once more, all Sam could do was call his name until Goody’s eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

He had checked on Billy after that to find he was still where he’d been the last time, curled up on the bed amid a halo of moulted fur, Billy hadn’t even lifted his head, but Sam felt obliged to inform him that Goody was okay, that he’d just told him how he’d died and he hadn’t taken it well.

The saloon tended to have more people visiting after that, resuming business as usual, though occasionally someone would approach the five interlopers to ask how _They_ were doing, referring to the two inhuman beings that had helped save their town. They were clearly uncertain about Goodnight and Billy, but not unaccepting, the preacher had even come to Sam to clarify that the townsfolk may have been scared of the pair, but had assured him that they wanted them here in spite of their fear, and had sought forgiveness from God for their unease regarding them. It was odd, but reassuring, and Sam thought Goody would appreciate knowing as much if he was ever fit to leave his bed again, though he couldn’t say _how_ Billy would feel, he was unresponsive at worst, and unreadable at best.

He was chatting to the preacher once more when Vasquez placed his hand of cards down and nodded to him, “El Fuego is awake,” he smirked as he uttered his usual alert and Sam sighed at him,

“Please stop calling him that…” he warned, standing and heading upstairs; he didn’t fancy having to break up a fight between an outlaw and a vampire. He fetched blood from his room and opened Goody’s door, peering inside; the first thing he saw was _blood_ , he dropped the mug on the floor and instinctively pulled his gun, brain sluggishly catching up with the situation.

Billy was on top of Goodnight, hunched over him and drooling blood into Goody’s mouth past feral canine teeth; his eyes were half lidded and glowing, his black ears were pressed flat to his skull, and several tails were writhing behind him, their black mass not enough to cover where he and Goody were joined in coital bliss. Sam hurried to shut the door, he could _hear_ them through it now, shuddering as the image of that haunting scene flashed behind his eyelids; he honestly could have lived a long, happy life without ever having seen that, and now it was stuck with him, violent, bloody, and disturbingly intimate. He steeled himself and tried to push the image from his mind, realising he still had his gun in hand and holstering it, he noticed his usually black boots were near crimson and steaming where the blood had hit them too. “God damn it…” he finally peeled himself off of the door and headed downstairs, intent on giving Vasquez a piece of his mind, as he had a sneaking suspicion that the Mexican knew more than he’d let on.

“You knew, didn’t you?” he asked as he reached the table where Vasquez and Faraday were playing cards, the latter having to place his cards face down every time he wanted a drink,

“Knew what?” Faraday asked, looking like he was trying not to laugh as he held his bottle in front of his mouth.

“You _both_ knew Billy was up,” he pinched the bridge of his nose as Vasquez and Faraday began laughing, “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, though he knew why and neither of them answered anyway,

“How many backs did that particular beast have?” Vasquez asked, earning scandalous looks from the other patrons of the saloon, including the preacher. Sam stared at him and Faraday was _howling_ with laughter,

“More than I needed to see,” he stated as he sat at their table and let them laugh, he was sure he could find a way to exact revenge on the pair of them.

“Hey Sam, is it still called _skinnin’ the cat_ if one of them’s a dog?” Faraday asked, amid his chuckles, Vasquez stopped laughing and had a similar look on his face to the one Sam suspected _he_ had, a confused disbelief.

“ _Gueros_ say the weirdest shit…” Vasquez said slowly,

“They really do, don’t they?” Sam agreed, watching as Faraday’s mood soured _too_ ,

“Oh c’mon that was _funny_ ,” he griped, “Foxes are dogs!” he exclaimed, “They are!” he sounded convinced, Sam supposed he could be right, but he didn’t know the history of foxes, and whilst to him they _looked_ dog-like, they also seemed rather _cat-like_.

“Josué they have _slit eyes_ , like a _cat_ ,” Vasquez pointed out,

“So? They’re _dogs_ ,” he insisted, “they’re fucking _dogs_ ,” he huffed, swigging his drink and grumbling about it as the others drank and the night crept on.

 

The crowd in the saloon dwindled as midnight came and went, and in the end only Sam, Vasquez, and Faraday remained, finishing individual bottles of whiskey and playing cards together, Sam had finally joined the game much to Faraday’s pleasure, as he insisted that Vasquez was rigging the deck.

“God damn it I’m _still_ losin’,” Faraday huffed as he threw his hand down, “I lost my lucky hand,”

“Wasn’t very lucky if you lost it, Pendejo,” Vasquez muttered and Faraday scowled over at him, soon growing distracted and staring up the stairs nearby. Sam followed his gaze, turning in his seat to see Goodnight and Billy on the landing, Goody had one hand on the rail and the other clutching Billy’s for dear life, his hair was short and fuzzy on his scalp and he looked like death warmed up, an indicator of his recent feed. Billy was in a better state than they’d seen him for months, he looked close to human with his hair hanging loose around his shoulders, his features seemed softer somehow, and neither of them looked like they’d been covered in blood amid the throes of passion earlier that day, which Sam wished he hadn’t thought about.

“Jesus Goody you look like warmed up shit,” Sam noted in greeting when the pair reached the main floor of the saloon, Goody laughed and released Billy’s hand to approach, he looked ready to collapse but he made it to the chair nearest Sam and dropped into it. Billy returned with more care, pulling a chair up next to Goody’s and sitting close,

“I feel like it, if I’m totally honest,” Goody agreed,

“Why?” Faraday asked,

“Because I’m _dying_ ,” Goody groaned as he said it, Sam felt cold terror work through him, after everything they’d done, after what _Billy_ had done?

“Stop being dramatic…” Billy rumbled, “he’s fed fresh from me… it _revives_ him… then he dies again…” he drawled, giving Goody a weary look, “but for some reason he wanted to come down here before he finished…”

“Psh,” Goody dismissed, “I’m _awake_ , is it truly such a crime to what to see people who aren’t my carers?” he asked, though he let out a soft groan and touched his fingers to his forehead, looking dizzy as he sagged against Billy. He looked truly vulnerable, clinging to Billy and shivering through his death, Sam had never seen him like this, and somehow he seemed even worse than he had when he was _burnt to a crisp_.

“Goody…” he let out quietly, he didn’t know how to ask if Goody was alright, and it didn’t seem like he’d answer anyway, as he’d closed his eyes and rested his head on Billy’s shoulder, his pained expression smoothing out as he fell completely still.

“Is he?” Faraday asked, tentative,

“Asleep…” Billy said softly, though for all intents and purposes, Goody appeared to be _dead_ ,

“Oh good,” he sighed, relieved as he leant back in his seat, though Sam noticed that he continued to glance nervously at Goody. “Hey Billy?” Billy moved his gaze slowly over to Faraday, who reeled slightly at the expression, “Uh…” he took a moment to compose himself, rubbing the stump of his arm nervously, “Are you a dog?” he asked, Billy’s brow furrowed into a frown and Faraday repeated himself with a little more conviction this time, “are you a _dog_?” Billy watched him, silent for a solid few seconds as he stroked a hand up and down Goody’s shoulder,

“I’m a fox…” he said,

“Well yeah I _know_ , but foxes are dogs right? Not _cats_ ,” Faraday shot a glance to Vasquez then and Sam followed it, watching as Vasquez gave Billy a look that clearly said ‘I know, stupid isn’t he?’ Billy regarded him coolly before looking back to Faraday,

“Foxes are dogs, essentially,” he answered and Faraday looked _thrilled,_

_“What?”_ Vasquez balked, “You have _slit pupils_!” he gestured at Billy as if that explained all, Billy just stared at him, eyes starting to glow yellow as his pupils narrowed into slits,

“Foxes are canine,” he said, _mocking_ him, “Surely _you_ know this…” he gave Vasquez a queer smile, his teeth all jagged points, Sam frowned,

“I told you they were dogs,” Faraday beamed, standing and pointing at Vasquez, interrupting Sam’s train of thought.

“Sit down Joshua,” he sighed, grabbing Faraday by the belt and making him sit, when he looked back to Billy his expression had softened to something closer to human once more, he was looking at Goody with his head canted to the side, an unashamed fondness in his eyes.

 

“I almost killed him when I met him…” Billy admitted after a while,

“In the bar fight?” Faraday asked, propping his elbows on the table and leaning on his one hand, the statement had piqued Sam’s curiosity too, Goody had never mentioned that, and Billy chuckled at the question.

“Ah…” he let out, “His story,” he didn’t take his eyes off of Goody at all, trailing his fingers from shoulder to wrist then back up again, caressing his corpse-like lover as he leant unmoving and unbreathing against him.

“Is that not true?” Sam asked, it was what _he’d_ been told as well, Goody had gone after Billy’s bounty, had seen him fight half a dozen men with his bare hands in a saloon in Texas,

“Well we _did_ meet in Texas,” he noted idly, “But as far as his story goes, that might be the only truth…” there was something odd about his tone, a strange cadence that Sam realised was because Billy didn’t really _talk_ much. “I was starving when I caught him riding in a storm,” he uttered, “I had hunted before, but it had been a while…” _hunted_ , he’d hunted _people_ , Sam found himself wracking his brain, trying to think of if he’d heard anything that sounded like a fox spirit hunting in Texas. “He has a soft heart,” he sighed, “I lured him in,”

“How?” Faraday interrupted, and Billy smirked at him and, barely opening his mouth, let out a quiet, infantile _wail_. It was a haunting sound, like a baby crying in the distance, scared and clearly alone, Sam had _seen_ the source and his heartbeat _still_ quickened in fear for the child, “Jesus…” Faraday gasped,

“I killed his horse, he managed to shoot me,” he chuckled, an odd thing to be fond about but then when was anything ever _not_ odd when it came to Goodnight and Billy? “We fought and he was strong… stronger than I was used to… it scared me…” he looked amazed by the memory, lifting his hand to Goody’s short hair, easing his fingers through the fine hairs, “almost broke my jaw…”

“Why do you make that sound _nice_?” Faraday asked, an oddly wistful sound to his voice,

“Have you ever met your match?” Billy asked,

“Does dynamite count?” Faraday joked, holding up his stumped arm,

“No, your _match_ , your equal, where only your own mistakes can fell you,” he was practically purring, his voice such an oddly pitched rumble that it barely sounded human.

“Still pretty sure that’s dynamite, but no… I don’t believe I _have_ ,” Faraday sighed, resting his chin in his hand again and waiting for Billy to continue,

“We were soaked to the bone… covered in blood… didn’t know what the other was…” he hummed, “and for some reason I _told_ him…”

“It all spiralled out of control from there, it’s been a good few decades, huh cher?” Goody mumbled, shifting in his seat to snuggle up to Billy, an oddly soft gesture for two dangerous creatures.

“Mhm… Go back to sleep Goody, you need rest…” Billy said softly, stroking Goody’s scalp once more until Goody’s half-lidded eyes drifted completely shut once more,

“God that’s crazy… so you hunt stuff… _people_?”

“Not so much anymore…” Billy shrugged, “we’ve taken a bounty or two, they never require much left for proof,” he smirked then and Sam realised that he _had_ heard about a killer in Texas, about men being found gutted next to their horses, which were always in a similar state, only 2 incidents but it had been enough to catch Sam’s interest. When he’d arrived there had been no further kills, he had _seen_ Goody, spoken to him, “ _Nothing out of the ordinary Sam, I’d know,”_ Goody had lied to him.

He looked at the sleeping man, he trusted Goody with his life, had slept next to a creature that could kill him so easily, and he still trusted him now; if Goody had lied, it had been because he knew Sam would have wanted Billy dead when Goody would sooner try to set him on a better path.

 

He watched the way Billy was with Goody, listened to how he humoured Faraday’s questions even when they verged on ridiculousness, or were deeply and unnecessarily intimate, even though he knew Billy was dangerous, there was a gentleness to him here. He trusted Billy, he’d done enough to prove himself trustworthy, but that niggle of doubt was eating at Sam and he had to know,

“Have you ever killed an innocent?” he asked, abrupt and interrupting Faraday mid-question, everyone looked at him save Goody, who remained oblivious and exhausted.

“I suppose so…” Billy answered, “Have you?”

“I try not to,”

“You have to eat,” Billy shrugged, “Surely cattle are innocent,”

“They’re bred to be food,” Sam countered,

“Deer, rabbits, birds,” he listed,

“The men you’ve killed likely have families, people who relied on them to be provided for,”

“Even carnivores, humans kill those,” Billy added without pause,

“They kill our livestock and our children,” Sam explained slowly, uncertain,

“Those animals had families, they had a purpose, how many times do you think you’ve killed an animal that was returning to its young to feed them?” there was a glimmer of something in Billy’s eyes then, raw and _vulnerable_ , and the tell of experience lingered in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly, “I understand,” Faraday looked between them, clearly not understanding; Billy had lost someone to a human defined necessity, a parent, a lover, Sam couldn’t say for sure, but the doubts washed away as he found something he and Billy shared other than a fondness for Goodnight Robicheaux.


End file.
